


think of me and burn

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [34]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Arson, Bisexual Violet, Biting, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Knifeplay, Mentioned Kate Argent, Past Character Death, Past Garrett/Violet - Freeform, Road Trips, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violet has been killing since she was thirteen.  She's become a master at infiltrating small towns, striking like a coiled snake and slipping away without a sound.  She practically has it down to a science. </p><p>Allison has only been killing for six months.  But that doesn't mean that she can't teach Violet some new tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	think of me and burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonerskittles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerskittles/gifts).



> this was written for the Teen Wolf Femslash Exchange and for the lovely [Mercedes!](http://marinmorell.tumblr.com/) I couldn't resist going for the serial killers prompt and I tried to include as many of your tropes as possible. <3
> 
> for everyone, this story is pretty dark (easily the darkest thing I've written in awhile), so please heed the warnings. if there's anything that I forgot to warn/tag for, please let me know!
> 
> thank you so much to [Christa](http://malieatate.tumblr.com/) for being a wonderful beta! title from [Of The Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCTDKLjdok4) by Bastille.

The warehouse stinks like mold and rot. The concrete floor is littered with puddles of stagnant water that fell through the multiple holes in the roof weeks (or maybe even years) ago. The pillars are crumbling and chunks of the walls have disappeared, either eroded away by the weather or broken by the numerous trespassers who use the place to party or fuck (if the piles of used condoms and broken bottles are any indication).

Thankfully, on this night, the warehouse is empty of revelers. Violet has the whole place to herself, but she only needs one room, deep within the depths of the building. She thinks it may have been an office at some point, a manager's maybe. There's still a huge, precariously leaning desk shoved into one corner, which she's set her flashlight on. There's a file cabinet tipped over on its side, drawers rusted half-open. There are pieces of paper scattered across the floor, most of their writing faded away or obscured by muddy footprints.

Violet is standing in the middle of the room, hands dangling loosely at her sides. Her breathing and heartbeat seem thunderously loud in her ears. She can feel rather than hear thick, warm arterial blood dripping from her fingers to the floor. There's more of it sprayed across the walls, maybe even on the ceiling; it's difficult to tell in the dim light that her flashlight throws. She can taste it on her lips and she swears that she can smell it, permeating every inch of the room.

She thinks that this is the kind of landscape that people should paint pictures of, not rolling valleys with swaying trees and fluffy clouds.

“Sloppy.”

The voice comes from behind her. In one fluid motion, she drops her blood drenched length of wire and yanks a serrated knife from the inside of her jacket, smearing still-warm blood along her shirt. The flashlight's dim glow means that she can only make out the boots of the person standing in the doorway. Before she can reach backwards, another light pierces the room, shining directly into her eyes. She blinks rapidly, resisting the urge to shade her eyes with her arm. After a few seconds, the light lowers slightly and the person steps closer.

“What a _mess_ ,” they say quietly, sliding the beam back and forth across the room.

“And who the hell are you?” Violet asks, tightening her grip on her knife. The person steps closer and Violet can finally make out some details. It's a young woman, with long dark hair pulled back into a tight braid. She's wearing a blindingly clean floral dress and combat boots. Her face is nearly split by a wide grin and she's holding a vicious looking blade in her right hand, manicured fingers wrapped tight around the handle. For a long time, she doesn't respond. She slowly walks in a circle around Violet, movements impossibly graceful. The knife shifts between her fingers as she walks, like it's just another one of the girl's limbs.

A shiver darts up Violet's spine, but it disappears so quickly that she can't be certain she didn't imagine it.

The girl stops beside the body, head tilted slightly as she stares down at it. Slowly, she reaches her foot out and gently prods at the corpse's throat, which is split in half by the mark from Violet's garotte. The head shifts slightly and the girl shudders, but that impossibly big smile doesn't budge from her face.

“You definitely deserve points for inventiveness,” she finally says. “But still. This place is a trainwreck.”

“Again, _who_ are you?” Violet snaps.

“My name's Allison,” the girl replies. “And you?” Violet immediately lets one of her aliases roll off the tip of her tongue. The girl mutters something under her breath before grabbing Violet's flashlight and tossing it at her.

“You're not nearly as good at lying as you seem to think you are,” Allison says. “You have to clean up this mess. The cops are going to come by any day now.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet says. She doesn't understand anything about this situation. She's been covering her tracks since her first day in town. She's barely talked to anyone, has made herself look as inconspicuous as possible, conducted all of her necessary business in the deepest of shadows.

Who is this girl, where the hell did she come from and why does she look like a wolf slumbering in the skin of a sheep?

Allison is already halfway to the door. She looks back over her shoulder and the glow from the flashlight is just enough for Violet to see the gleam in Allison's eyes.

It's a gleam she recognizes all too well.

“You picked a good spot,” Allison says. “It's one of my favorites, actually.”

&.

Once they exit the room, Allison flicks her flashlight off and stows it in her backpack. She's memorized almost inch of the warehouse. She knows the feel of the floors and walls, knows the location of every chunk of concrete and every infinitely dark hole. She nimbly steps over an old piece of wood, swerves around a length of rebar sticking out of the wall. 

The muffled curse and thud that come from behind her tells her that the other girl isn't so lucky.

She turns down another hallway, flaring her nostrils slightly. She knows that there's no way the smell of blood can still be lingering down here, not after her meticulous scouring and clean-up job, but she can't help but imagine that she'll be able to catch the scent again, if she just smells hard enough.

She passes by other rooms hidden in the darkness, rooms that have seen their share of blood. She knows each and every one of them like she knows the back of her hands.

It's really a shame that the place has to burn.

There's no other option; the other girl has seen to that. Allison has seen her a few times over the past month; standing in the line at the coffee shop Allison frequents, buying frozen dinners at the grocery store, staring at the knife display in the local sporting goods shop with barely-concealed glee in her eyes.

Allison hadn't followed her, not intentionally at least. She'd just been curious, that was all. She'd watched, just casually at first. She'd stayed at the coffee shop a little longer, peeked at the girl from the archery section, kept her eyes peeled for the black motorcycle that the girl drove.

(She'd memorized the license plate too, kept it tucked away in the recesses of her mind. Old habits died hard.)

It was only a matter of time before she saw it. Coming home from work one night, a shudder had come over her and, twisting her head, there was the motorcycle, just barely peeking out from behind a dumpster.

She found the girl halfway down the alley, just inside a door that hung half open, crooked on its hinges. Right there, in the main room of an abandoned store, the girl stood with the fingers of one hand locked into the thick, dark hair of a kneeling man. Her other hand swiftly drew a knife across his extended throat. Allison had to bite back a groan as blood spurted over the girl's fingers. Specks landed on her legs, bare underneath a short, black leather skirt.

It was a messy kill, with too much evidence left behind, but Allison still barely managed to make it back home before she slid her hand into her shorts and pressed two fingers into herself.

The second kill she witnessed was more dignified. The girl (who got Sam written on her coffee cups and gave her name as Marie at the sporting goods store) stood on a street corner for half an hour, leaning casually against a wall, legs placed so that her skirt revealed inches of smooth thigh. It was only a matter of time before a man came along and the girl lured him around the corner, to a public swimming pool closed for renovations. Allison slipped from shadow to shadow, stepped through a gap in the fence and watched as the girl leaned against a wall. The man stepped closer and closer, not noticing as the girl reached behind herself and pulled something from the waistband of her skirt.

In a blur of movement, the girl twisted the man around and wrapped a rope tight around his neck. He struggled violently but the girl's grip didn't waver. She just pulled harder and harder, until his fingers stopped flailing and he slumped to the ground.

It was done in absolute silence. It was a thing of beauty that left Allison soaking wet between her legs.

After that, it's rather discouraging to follow the girl to the warehouse, only to find a scene of absolute, amateur chaos.

They finally step out of the hulking building, into the alley that runs alongside it. Allison's car is parked there, but she only stops at it long enough to reach into the trunk and grab a large jerry can of gasoline.

She's pretty sure that this isn't what her dad meant when he told her to always have some extra fuel.

“What are you doing?” the girl asks. She mutters a curse under her breath as she follows Allison back into the building and Allison grins.

She'd expected the girl to either run off or try to kill her. So far, things are going even better than she imagined.

“Cleaning up your mess,” Allison says. “This is the easiest way.”

“I _didn't_ leave a mess,” she snaps. “And how do you know the cops are going to be here any day now?”

“Insider knowledge,” Allison replies with a shrug, absently stepping over a large chunk of metal. Between her father and her friend Stiles, she knows almost every move that the sheriff's department makes and she knows that they've assigned their latest rookie the unenviable task of checking out some of the town's abandoned areas for evidence of trespassing.

It's only a matter of time before he discovers something he wasn't meant to see.

She finally reaches the room where the girl's latest kill is growing cold. The room is starting to gain a bit of a smell, a hint of decay. Allison flares her nostrils quickly before she turns to the girl. She's hovering close behind Allison, close enough to garotte her.

Allison would like to see her try.

She completely douses the room with the gasoline. She's not sure if the fire will burn hot enough to completely destroy the warehouse, but it should at least eliminate the important stuff.

She trails the gasoline back out into the hallway, continuing until it runs out. There's a book of matches in her backpack and she lights one up, the warmth of the heat on her fingers a promise of things yet to come.

For the first time, she thinks she understands her late aunt's proclivity for arson.

“Might want to step back.” The girl doesn't move. Allison shrugs and drops the match before turning around, just in time to feel an oven of heat come to life behind her.

She doesn't dare look back over her shoulder. She doesn't want to risk getting hypnotized by the flames.

The fire catches even better than she could have hoped. In the alley outside, she watches through the door as the inside of the building gains an orange glow. She can hear the crackle of papers being devoured, paired with the eerie creak of metal twisting and bending. There's a loud crash as something, maybe another filing cabinet, goes plummeting to the floor, and that's what spurs Allison into action.

“So,” she says, spinning around. Although she knows it can't be happening, she swears that the flames are reflecting in the girl's deep brown eyes and for a moment, Allison almost forgets what she planned on saying.

Almost.

“If you want to leave now, that's fine. No hard feelings. But I want a burger and you're more than welcome to join. I'm buying.” She tosses the empty jerry can into her passenger seat before sliding into the driver's side and pulling out of the alley, ears peeled for the sound of approaching sirens.

She isn't surprised when she doesn't hear any. Nor is she surprised when she hears the roar of a motorcycle following her.

&.

The diner is the very opposite of the warehouse. It's glaringly well-lit and packed with people. Even through her helmet, Violet can hear the music piping out of the speakers on the outside of the building. Below that, there's the low hum of two dozen conversations overlapping at once. It's the very kind of place that sets her on edge. 

But she can see Allison (if that's her real name) sitting in a window booth, chin propped up on her hand, staring straight ahead. That's enough to get Violet off her bike and inside.

She immediately slides into the booth opposite Allison, who has a cup of black coffee sitting in front of her. Before Violet can open her mouth, a waitress breezes up to the table.

“What can I get you?”

“Just coffee,” Violet says. She's so pumped full of adrenaline that she doesn't think she could hold food down, but she needs something to occupy her hands.

“Sounds good. Ally, do you want anything else?”

“A burger, please, with fries. Thank you Tracy!” Allison flashes her a blinding smile and the waitress blushes all the way back to the counter. Violet has to blink a few times to make sure that she's staring at the same girl who just casually lit a warehouse on fire.

But even if Allison looks like she belongs here, there's no mistaking the faint smell of smoke clinging to her.

“So,” Allison says, leaning forward slightly. The change is subtle but Violet can see it in her eyes, the way they morph from soft to hard as steel. “Can I know your real name?” For a few moments, Violet considers giving her another alias, maybe one she abandoned a few towns ago. But Allison so easily detected the last one and Violet doesn't particularly enjoy being bested.

If you can't beat them, join them.

“Violet,” she says. It feels strange, rolling the word off her tongue again after so many years of keeping it tucked inside her. No one has heard it since Garrett, since they were fifteen and had the whole world to squeeze between their hands.

Garrett's been moldering in the ground for four years now. Violet still doesn't know if she misses him or not.

“Violet,” Allison repeats. “That's a very pretty name. Way better than Sam and Marie.”

“Girl's gotta have some secrets,” Violet shrugs. “I'm sure you know that all too well.”

“Learned it from my aunt,” Allison replies, “along with everything else I know.” There's a sharp edge to that statement and it seems to hint at something dark, even darker than anything Violet has ever touched.

She doesn't push for that knowledge. Yet.

“Is she your partner or something?” she asks instead. “Or do you just compete against each other?” Of all the reactions Violet expects, laughter is not one of them. Allison giggles, loud and delighted like a child at Christmas, grin stretching across her face.

“Neither!” she exclaims. She leans even further across the table, so close that Violet can feel her breath against her cheek.

“I killed my competition six months ago,” Allison murmurs. When she pulls back, she's still grinning, showing all of her teeth. She looks like a shark, sleek and beautiful and deadly.

She looks like she could devour Violet.

&.

They exchange maybe a dozen more words before they leave the diner and go their separate ways. Allison sings along to the radio the entire way back home. A few fire engines with their sirens turned off pass her on the way and that only makes her sing along louder.

She arrives home to a house filled with silence. She closes the front door with a barely perceptible _snick_ , slides out of her shoes and tip-toes to the living room. It's aglow with soft, flickering light from the muted television. Her mom is stretched out on the couch, hands pillowed under her sharp angled face. Her father is in his easy chair, chin resting against his chest, a half-empty glass of scotch still cradled in his hand. Allison slips behind him, plucks away the glass and drains it in one swift swallow before setting it back between his fingers.

It is the thirtieth time she's done this in the months since her aunt's death.

Briefly, she lets her mind wander towards Kate, who always smelled like smoke and had dozens, maybe even hundreds of ways of making people scream. Allison lays back on her bed and stares at her ceiling, falling into a memory as she does so. It's one of her favorites, from the day that she watched as Kate electrocuted someone until their skin was smoking. Abruptly, the memory shifts. When she looks from the corpse to her aunt, she finds herself staring at Violet. Violet grins and rubs together the metal in her hands, causing sparks to fly through the air.

Allison's eyes fly open and a shudder goes coursing through her body. Since they buried Kate, she's been able to put some of her aunt's teachings into practice, but she's yet to hook someone up to a car battery and listen to them scream.

She wonders if Violet would be interested. Something tells her that she would be.

&.

Violet decides to leave. 

The shitty bachelor apartment that she's been renting for the past two months is only a few blocks from the diner. She breezes in, grabs the duffle bag stashed under the rickety bed and is on the road out of town in only five minutes.

It's only the fire that keeps her from completely leaving Beacon Hills in her rearview mirror.

In the direction of the warehouse, the sky is aglow. Violet pulls over to the side of the road and just stares for a few moments, watches as fingers of flame rise up, like they're trying to pull the clouds down. It's absolutely gorgeous and when Violet thinks of the look that crossed Allison's face in the moments after she dropped the match, something starts thrumming deep in Violet's chest.

It has been a long time since she worked alongside someone. There was one person after Garrett, a young woman that she'd met at a truck stop, where they'd been both pulling the same act. They lured a long haul driver in with a few winks and syrup-thick words, convinced him to pull into the very back of the parking lot, where the lights barely reached. They got him in the back seat, where a large plastic bag was all they needed to seal the deal.

They fell asleep together on the trucker's bunk, pressed together close as quotation marks. Violet drifted off naked and sated and woke up to a pair of deceptively strong hands wrapped around her throat.

Violet thought long and hard about cutting off those hands. In the end, she decided against it, only because her good knife was back in her motel room.

Her every instinct screams that partnering up with Allison, even if it's only for one night, will end in disaster. She can't risk letting her guard down, can't risk being compromised. But on the other hand, Allison destroyed evidence for her. She'd lit up an entire warehouse (maybe even a whole block, if the growing flames are indication) without even knowing Violet's full name. It feels like some kind of bizarre courting ritual, but Violet doesn't dare trust that it's as simple as that.

She kicks the motorcycle back on and whips around, speeding back into town. She knows that she's making a poor decision, maybe even a deadly one, but she's never been good at resisting temptation.

Besides, regardless of whether Allison tries to kill or fuck her, at least Violet won't be surprised.

&.

Allison has just begun the second leg of her run when she hears a twig snap. 

She immediately stops in her tracks. She knows that it could just be someone else utilizing the Preserve's trails but her instincts tell her otherwise. There's a Chinese ring dagger in a sheath attached to her shoulder, hidden by her light running jacket. She slowly inches her hand towards it, listening for another snap or rustle.

When it comes, she's ready.

She whips around, keeping low to avoid any blows that might be coming towards her head, before she dives forward and catches the person around the waist, sending them both to the ground. Before she can react, she realizes that there's something sharp pressed against the line of her throat. She glances up and immediately finds herself falling into Violet's dark eyes.

“You need to work on your footsteps,” she says. She shifts slightly and feels a single drop of blood run down her neck. “You're too loud.”

“I wasn't trying to be quiet,” Violet replies. “I was trying to get your attention.”

“Could have just yelled.”

“I kind of like this better.” Violet tilts her head and smirks. As she pulls the knife away from Allison's throat, she raises her leg, which is tucked between both of Allison's. Her thigh presses against Allison's core and while Allison keeps her mouth in a firm line, she has to try hard to bite back a groan.

“Well, you have my attention now,” she says, getting back to her feet and returning her knife to its sheath. “What do you want?”

“Are you busy tonight?” Allison raises an eyebrow; technically, she has plans with Lydia but she can always reschedule, come up with some excuse involving her parents.

“Depends on if your plans are more exciting than the ones I already have.” Violet smirks again but in moments it's washed away, replaced by something that almost resembles vulnerability.

“There's a man,” Violet says. She launches into a tale of a foster home she was in as a child, of another kid who left her with bruises and blood. Halfway through, a single tear runs down her smooth cheek and Allison is stuck between wanting to laugh and wanting to lick it off.

She learned how to lie from the best and she sees through Violet almost immediately. She doesn't believe her. More importantly, she doesn't care.

“Where?” she asks, entire body throbbing with coiled _want_.

&.

When Violet first arrived in Beacon Hills she did some research. Not anything too extensive, more like a brief study of the the town's layout, its hidden nooks and crannies, the places that time had let go to dust. She discovered that, once upon a time, the town attempted to create a subway system. It was a misguided project that only lasted a few months but the stations still exist, dotted underneath the town, entrances rusting shut. 

There's one just outside the fringes of downtown, where the shops begin to blur into industrial parks and old factories. Across from the entrance, there's a battered bus shelter and this is where Violet waits, motorcycle safely tucked into the shadows a few blocks away.

The man that she told Allison about passed by twenty minutes ago, descending into the depths of the abandoned subway with only a quick look over his shoulder. He hadn't given Violet a second glance and that was enough to make familiar heat start burning under her skin.

She doesn't know the guy's name. She sees him in the coffee shop all the time, where he treats the baristas like absolute shit. She knows that he likes to sit at a corner table with his buddies and loudly brag about his sexual encounters, only half of which sound consensual. She knows that the world would be a better place without him and she knows that he's alone down in the subway, retrieving from (and dipping into) the stash of drugs he uses to supplement his income.

She also knows that Allison is twenty minutes late.

When five more minutes pass without any sign of the other woman, Violet begins to fidget. She swears that she can taste blood in her mouth and her fingers itch to move, to squeeze, to do _something._ If Allison doesn't show up soon, Violet is going to go in without her. She can't just bite the urge back, not when it's burning so strong inside her.

Across the street, she notices a flicker of movement, darting between the shadows between the streetlights. The flicker eventually coalesces into a person, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, who effortlessly jumps, grabs the top of the chain link fence around the subway entrance and climbs over in a series of fluid moments. When they land on their feet, they turn around and push their hood away from their face and Violet can just barely make out Allison's pale skin and dark hair, piled up into a bun.

By the time Violet slips over the fence, Allison has already disappeared under the ground. Violet finds her at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, perched on a rusting railing with her legs crossed.

“Sounds like he's having a party down there,” Allison says as a greeting. The muffled strains of dubstep are coming through the floor, which means that the man is already high as a kite.

“I think we should go crash it.” Allison grins and reaches up to smooth her thumb along the hollow beneath Violet's eye. Violet swears that she feels the touch linger there, sinking into her skin like a burn.

“Now that's an excellent idea.”

They slip down the rest of the stairs in silence. They exit out into a cavernous room, made of crumbling brick and concrete. There's a single subway car sitting in the middle on tracks that are boarded up at both ends. The place is scattered with miscellaneous junk, most of it covered in a thick layer of dust. The guy is standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, spinning around with his fists thrust towards the ceiling. He seems to be singing too but the words are so garbled that Violet can't understand him. There's a support pillar in front of her and she ducks behind it, deciding how exactly she wants to go about doing this. Allison follows her, slipping from the foot of the stairs to the pillar without a sound.

“Want to see something cool?” Allison murmurs. She's so close that Violet can feel her body heat. Violet glances over her shoulder and meets Allison's eyes. Her pupils are blown and her irises look almost black.

“Sure,” she replies. Allison grins again and presses a kiss against Violet's cheek before stepping away and shrugging her hoodie to the ground. She's wearing a tank top underneath and there are two sheaths strapped to her sides. Violet recognizes the blades that she pulls out as Chinese ring daggers and a shudder goes up her spine.

The fact that Allison kissed her doesn't really register in her mind. She's too distracted by the unfolding sight before her.

Allison takes a deep breath, twirls both daggers once and takes off across the room, silent and swift as a wraith. There's a stack of metal right behind the guy, covered up with a tarp, but Allison doesn't stop. She simply jumps, briefly plants one foot on top of the wobbling stack and flings herself into the air.

She lands on top of the man's shoulders and sinks both the daggers into the meat of his pectorals before he can so much as squawk. Violet doesn't know how she manages it, but just as quickly as she lands, Allison yanks the knives out and flips neatly over the man's head. She lands in a neat crouch four feet in front of him, just as he sags to the ground. Violet crosses the room to join them and as the music changes, she hears the man moaning slightly. Allison slowly gets to her feet and tucks her daggers away, chest rising and falling.

“Your turn,” she pants. The man groans and tries to prop himself up on his hands, but Violet presses her foot into the back of his neck, forcing him back down.

This night is going to be even more fun than she thought.

&.

Allison sits back and lets Violet work. 

What the girl lacks in foresight, she makes up for in sheer fervor. Her hands never stop moving; twirling a knife here, pushing down on a pressure point there. They've switched off the music, so the only sounds that echo through the cavern are the ones that the man makes as he's systematically taken apart, stripped down to blood and frayed nerves. When it becomes clear that the end is coming, Violet unwraps her garotte from around the man's neck and looks up at Allison through her curtain of dark hair.

“Do you want to?” she asks. Allison shakes her head, but she pulls her daggers from their sheaths and holds them out towards Violet.

“He's yours. Use these.”

Violet seems all too happy to take Allison up on the offer. Her fingers brush against Allison's as she takes the daggers and once her hands are free, Allison absently presses her palm against where she's been wet and aching for what feels like hours.

It ends in one last cry and one last gush of blood.

Violet doesn't move for a few minutes. She stays motionless, chest heaving, fingers still wrapped tight around both daggers. Her hair is dangling in waves in front of her face and even from her spot atop of a pile of old tarps, Allison can hear her gasping for breath.

When Violet finally looks up, there's absolutely no mistaking the look in her eyes.

_Hunger._

She drops the daggers to the floor with a clatter and Allison comes _thisclose_ to screaming at her; they were a present from Kate for her seventeenth birthday. But before she can open her mouth, Violet crosses the room, drops into her lap and kisses her so hard that Allison's head is wrenched back. Allison tilts her head slightly and parts her lips, welcoming Violet's tongue when it brushes against hers. It's quickly followed by the press of her blunt teeth against Allison's bottom lip and Allison groans. She slides her hands down Violet's back and grabs her ass, pulling her even closer. Violet's hands go flying to her hair, tugging harshly through knots. It makes bolts of pain sting across Allison's scalp and the next time she feels Violet's tongue, she bites down on it gently.

The noise Violet makes is unlike anything Allison has ever heard. It's almost a growl, far more guttural than Allison expected, but it makes another rush of warmth flow through her entire body. She does it again, a little harder and this time, one of Violet's hands wraps tight around her throat.

It's like she's been hit with a bolt of electricity.

Allison's eyes snap open and she gasps, squeezing the back of Violet's thighs. Violet's hand shifts slightly and her thumb digs into a spot just underneath Allison's jaw. It's enough to make spots flash in front of Allison's eyes and she gasps again, breath hitching in her throat.

Violet's hand drops away just as suddenly as it appeared. When Allison glances up, Violet is looking down at her with what almost looks like worry.

“Are you-”

Allison doesn't let her finish. She shoves one hand into Violet's hair and yanks her back down to her mouth. She can hear their tongues sliding together and the taste of blood lingers in her mouth. When Violet yanks away to suck in a breath, Allison reaches down and pops open the button of her own jeans. When her fingers brush against the front of her panties, she finds the fabric absolutely soaked. Violet's hand is splayed against her cheek, curling slightly into Allison's hair and she turns her head to suck two of Violet's fingers into her mouth. They taste like iron and blood, rust and sweat and Allison moans before letting the fingers drop from her lips.

She doesn't need to tell Violet what to do after that.

She comes with three of Violet's fingers crooked inside of her and with Violet's hand stretched tightly around her throat and for a few minutes, Allison feels like she's brushed against real joy.

&.

Violet doesn't dream. She never has. While other children woke up screaming because of nightmares, Violet slept soundly until sunrise. 

That night, she leaves her clothes in the middle of the combined kitchen/living room of her crappy apartment and steps into the shower. The temperature goes no higher than lukewarm but for once, she doesn't mind. She barely stays awake long enough to wash away the dust and come smeared on the inside of her thighs. By the time she turns the water off, her eyes are drooping shut. Exhaustion is settling on her in a way she can't remember ever experiencing. She makes it as far as the couch before she lays down, wet hair cascading over her shoulders, towel serving as a makeshift blanket.

She falls asleep almost immediately. And she dreams.

She dreams of her fingers wrapped tightly around Allison's throat. She dreams of Allison's eyes fluttering closed, mouth pulled tight in ecstasy, her hips bucking against Violet's mouth. She dreams about licking her fingers clean and she dreams about the fire she glimpsed in Allison's eyes in the seconds before Allison shoved her onto the concrete and starting undoing Violet's jeans.

When she wakes up, the first rays of sun are coming through the window and she's already slick between her thighs.

&.

Allison wakes up to bruises. 

There are matching rings of them around both of her wrists and there's a fainter set on her neck. She peers in the mirror and tilts her head this way and that, studying every angle of the bruise. If she squints she thinks that she can see the outline of each of Violet's fingers.

She bites her lip and grins at herself before she reaches for her concealer.

She barely makes it through an entire day of hanging out with Lydia and Tracy. Her mind is so preoccupied that she contributes only brief responses to their conversations. Amazingly, Lydia doesn't seem to notice anything askew. The only comment she makes regards Allison's concealer, and that's easy enough to explain away with a quick wink and a promise to tell the story later.

She's inherited Kate's penchant for lying. She comes up with a plausible cover story in five minutes as she heads to the grocery store on her way home.

It's late and the aisles are mostly empty. Allison has a list in her hands, covered in her mother's spindly handwriting and she's trying to figure out if her mom wants cherries or chilies when she stops in her tracks. She smells something, a whiff of light perfume, mingled with something heavier and industrial. She peers over her shoulder and sure enough, Violet is on the other side of the aisle. She doesn't say a single word. She simply crosses over and rubs her thumb against Allison's throat, until her finger is smeared with concealer. She smirks and Allison has to bite back the urge to shove her up against the shelves and drop to her knees in front of her.

Instead, when Violet goes to drop her hand, Allison grabs her around the wrist.

“Do you wanna go for a drive later?”

&.

For the second time in as many days, Violet finds herself waiting for Allison to emerge from the shadows. 

She's sitting astride her motorcycle, at the very edge of the grocery store's parking lot, just outside the reach of the lights coming through the plate glass windows. Allison had said she'd only be gone a few minutes but each second seems to take an eternity to tick by. Finally, just when Violet's about to kick her bike back to life, headlights flash across her face. Allison pulls up beside her, in a car that screams suburban family. She tosses her backpack and groceries into the back before she slides into the leather passenger seat.

She wonders if any of Allison's friends have ever commented on the strange smell in the car. No amount of pine-tree air freshener can disguise the scent of death that seems to be clinging to the floorboards.

“Where are we going?” Violet asks.

“How's your night vision?” Allison responds instead.

“Good. Why?” Allison grins and leans forward, cranking the radio up to an obscene volume.

“You'll see when we get there! It's not far!” She falls quiet, but Violet doesn't look away. She's used to looking at people from the corner of her eye, studying their faces, watching for flickers of emotion that might make them suitable targets. Staring at someone straight on is kind of a novelty, one that she doesn't think will wear out its welcome anytime soon. If Allison minds she doesn't say. She simply pays attention to the road, nimble fingers lightly tapping off the steering wheel.

They drive for half an hour, passing by Beacon Hill's commercial section and the exit for the interstate. After that, there are a few mini-malls that have seen better days and some sprawling houses set back from the road. That's followed by absolutely nothing, blackness passing by on either side of them, not even a reflective set of animal eyes to break through the dark.

Violet wonders how many secrets live out here, hiding in the trees or buried in shallow graves.

Sadly, the darkness doesn't last. Soon enough, they come upon civilization again, in the form of a massive outlet mall. Even though it's nearly ten, most of the stores look like they're still open and the parking lot is still packed with vehicles. Allison pulls into a spot near the back corner.

“Do you want my opinion on some new clothes?” Violet asks, peering out the window. Allison laughs quietly and pops open the compartment between their two seats. She pulls out a small club, which looks like it was stolen from a cop's holster. Allison slaps it against her hand with a crisp _snap_ before she pops her seatbelt off.

“Have you ever shot a bow before?” she asks. Violet shakes her head. She's toyed with the idea before, of getting a miniature crossbow that would easily fit in her duffle bag, but at the end of the day, the shine of blood against a knife blade has always proved to be too alluring.

“Excellent,”Allison says, practically beaming. She peers out the window and when Violet follows her gaze, she sees a man coming towards them. He seems to be alone and his head is buried in his cellphone. Even after he walks into the bumper of a parked car, he simply rubs at his leg before going back to texting.

Violet doesn't even bother to look back at Allison before she steps out of the car.

&.

“Take a deep breath,” Allison murmurs. She fits herself closer to Violet's back and brushes her hand down Violet's arm. She can tell that Violet is trying to keep steady, but Allison can feel her muscles shaking. “Lift your elbow up a bit.” 

“How long have you been doing this for?” Violet asks through gritted teeth.

“As long as I can remember.” Allison presses a kiss against Violet's neck before she steps back.

“Let go.” The breath rushes out of Violet's chest as she releases the arrow from the bow. Through a break in the trees, the moon gleams on the silver shaft as it whooshes through the air. There's a loud thud as the arrow buries itself in a tree trunk.

“Hmm,” Allison says, stepping closer and squinting so that she can better make out where the arrow struck. “You're getting better. A little to the left next time.” Before Violet can respond, the air rings with a shriek, only slightly muffled by three layers of duct tape. Violet lowers the bow and glances over her shoulder, canines flashing in a sharp smile.

“Do you want a turn?” she asks. “My arms are starting to ache.”

“Sure.” Violet passes the bow over, thankfully more gentle with it than she was with Allison's daggers. Just thinking about the sound of them clattering on the concrete makes her head throb slightly, so she quickly takes the bow and slings it over her shoulder.

Her next movements are completely automatic; this is one of the few deadly skills she didn't learn from Kate. She molds herself to the bow, lets it become a part of her body, another one of her limbs. The metal is slippery from Violet's sweat so Allison adjusts accordingly. She sucks in a deep breath and holds it until her eyes are straining against their sockets. Only then does she exhale and let the arrow fly.

When it finds its mark, the sound is a soft one, metal piercing vulnerable flesh.

There's no more shrieking after that.

&.

The backseat of Allison's car is remarkably clean. There's no plastic bag filled with garbage sitting on the floor, no abandoned drinks or clothes. Violet would even go as far as to say that it's almost spotless. 

It isn't going to stay that way for long.

Every time she shifts, Violet feels her thighs peel away from the leather seat. Her pants and shirt are somewhere on the ground outside and her bra is just barely hanging onto her shoulders. Allison is completely naked astride Violet's lap. Her blunt nails are biting into Violet's shoulders and her head is tossed back, at risk of hitting the roof of the car. She's clenching down around three of Violet's fingers, dripping wet and almost hot enough to burn. Violet is thinking about adding a fourth finger, maybe just teasing it, but she's finding it hard enough to concentrate as it is.

(As soon as they'd slid into the backseat, already a mess of swollen lips and tangled hair, Allison had reached under the backseat and come up with another dagger. This one had a smaller blade and a slightly battered leather grip, but there was absolutely no mistaking it for something harmless. It looked sharp enough to cut a throat and for all Violet knew, it'd been used for that very purpose.

Allison had pressed it into Violet's hand and whispered, “use it” and Violet felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff that might crumble into the sea at any moment.)

She crooks her fingers inside Allison and adjusts the grip of her other hand on Allison's dagger. The leather is damp with sweat and the metal of the blade is already darkened with streaks of blood. Slowly, Violet raises the knife and drags it down the outside of Allison's thigh, parallel to a line that's already there. She barely has to put any pressure behind the blade before blood blooms from Allison's ghost-white skin. The noise Allison makes doesn't sound like it should belong to a human. She clenches tighter around Violet's fingers and slides her hand down her chest to rub hard circles against her clit. Her other hand stays firmly tangled in Violet's hair, grip as strong as an anchor.

All it takes for Allison to _scream_ is for Violet to draw the knife down her leg one more time.

Allison quakes above her for a few moments, hips rolling slower and slower, sucking in gasps of air. Violet carefully tosses the knife under the front seat and rubs one thumb over the wounds on Allison's thigh. The cuts aren't deep, but there's enough blood for it to gather in droplets on Violet's fingers. As Allison slowly raises herself up on shaking legs, Violet brings her thumb up to her lips and sucks off Allison's blood.

She intends to lick her other hand clean as well but Allison pounces on her before she can even raise it to her mouth. She shoves Violet onto her back, a strength that isn't obvious in her slim figure coming to light. Violet knocks her head against the door but she barely winces. Allison doesn't say a single word; she reaches back under the seat, grabs the knife and uses it to slice Violet's panties at the hips. The shredded result gets tossed out the open window.

Allison curls herself over her own knees, a position that looks incredibly uncomfortable. If it bothers her, it doesn't show. She wraps her hands around Violet's thighs and yanks her down the seat. Briefly, there's the unpleasant burn of skin sticking to leather but as soon as Allison gets her mouth on Violet, that pain disappears. She drapes her legs over Allison's shoulders and doesn't shy away from digging her heels into Allison's back and yanking at her thoroughly tangled hair.

A breeze comes through the window, tickling against Violet's toes and bringing with it the faint but unmistakable smell of rot from the body outside.

&.

It's a long time before Allison gets her voice back. When she does manage to talk again, it's more of a rasp than anything. Her throat is dry and her jaw is sore. She swears that she can feel the cartilage grinding harder and harder with each syllable she mouths. 

“I brought you something,” she says. Violet's only acknowledgment is a raised eyebrow. Carefully, Allison peels herself off the hood of her car, wincing as her skin sticks to the metal. Even with the windows open, the backseat had been too warm. Besides, there was something to be said about the sight of Violet laying against the hood, head resting against the bottom of the windshield, hair splayed across the glass. Allison glances at her as she reaches into the glove compartment. Violet is in mid stretch, back curved, breasts pushed towards the sky. Allison finds herself wanting to brush her tongue over Violet's peaked nipples.

Maybe afterwards, depending on how Violet reacts to the gift.

It's an Argent family heirloom, passed down to Allison by Kate two weeks before Allison put her in the ground. At first glance, it looks like a fairly innocuous circular pendent, hanging from a thick silver wire. But it doubles as the most vicious weapon Allison has ever had in her possession. It's thermo-cut and the metal gets hot enough to simultaneously cut off an appendage and cauterize the wound.

Or so Kate said. Allison has never tried it.

“It'll take a man's head off, without spilling a drop of blood,” she murmurs, trailing the heavy pendent along Violet's stomach, until it rests above a thick scar curving along her hip. Violet sits up slightly and slips the pendent into her palm. She holds it up in front of her eyes, twisting and turning it so that it catches the light of the moon. The wire necklace slips down to lay between her breasts and on a whim, Allison leans forward and tugs on it slightly with her teeth. When she peers up, she sees that Violet is grinning, looking like she's ready to sink into skin and bone.

“When can we try it?” Violet asks, pulling the necklace over her head.

“Whenever you want,” Allison sighs contently, before burying her face between Violet's thighs until Violet screams and leaves scratches on the hood of her car.

&.

They try it the next day. 

Violet knows that, technically, they should probably give it a few days. Beacon Hills seems to be swarming with sheriff's deputies. There are two of them standing in front of Violet when she gets her morning coffee and she counts six more on her way back to her apartment. It's only a matter of time before they find the body an hour away, still tied to a tree in the forest, but even that knowledge doesn't quench her desire.

With every step that she takes, the pendent thumps against her breastbone. It's already left a bruise on her skin. She can't wait to see what it does when its full potential is released.

She meets Allison for lunch at the diner near the burnt out warehouse. As soon as she slides into the booth, Allison pulls a map out of her pocket. It's well-creased and in the center of it, there's a tiny dot circled multiple times.

“There,” Allison says, tapping the dot with a well-manicured finger. “That's where we're going.” Violet simply shrugs and orders a milkshake when the waitress breezes by.

“Works for me,” she says. She shifts slightly and the pendent thuds against her chest again. She rubs her thumb over the engravings on it and tries to still the jitters plaguing her limbs. Some of it is excitement, there's no doubt about that, but there's something else thrumming deep inside her.

She's been in Beacon Hills for nearly a month now. The last time she stayed still this long, she was sixteen and playing house with Garrett in a rat-infested shack. The urge to move on has been creeping up her back for days now, but she's been so distracted by Allison's feral grin that it's been easy enough to ignore.

But not now. It feels like the town is smoothing fingers up her back, reaching for her throat. Her instincts are screaming at her to move on and if there was one thing she learned from Garrett, it was to trust her instincts, unless she wanted to end up buried in a shallow grave.

They quickly eat before starting their journey. It's a two hour journey and Allison drives responsibly the whole way, barely going over the speed limit. Violet props her feet up on the dashboard and continues to trail her fingers along the necklace.

The small town that they end up in looks like a downsized version of Beacon Hills, complete with a smaller outlet mall on the outskirts. Allison seems to be familiar with the town; she only consults the map once before she starts making turns. The businesses quickly melt into blocks of houses with neatly trimmed lawns. After that, there's an industrial area and it's here that Allison pulls into a parking lot covered with cracked asphalt. The lot faces a squat concrete building that seems to only have one entrance. There's a faded sign above the door, but it's so old that Violet can't even tell what kind of business it might be advertising.

For a few moments, Allison just stares blankly ahead, fingers locked tight around the steering wheel. Her entire face looks pulled tight and the muscles underneath her skin are jumping slightly.

She looks like she's about to explode. She looks beautiful.

When the silence starts to feel borderline oppressive, Violet asks her if she's ready. Allison slowly turns her head. Her hands slide off the steering wheel and she reaches across the dash to cradle the pendent. Her fingers trail up the necklace until they're cradled against Violet's jaw.

Violet has the sudden thought that Allison could probably snap her neck, if she wanted to.

“Let's go,” she murmurs, gently brushing her thumb against Violet's bottom lip before pulling away. She unbuckles her seat belt and slips out of the car. By the time Violet catches up to her, she's nearly at the entrance. Allison stops for a moment with her hand wrapped around the doorknob. She turns and steps forward, backing Violet against the grimy wall. Violet parts her lips, leaning up for the kiss that she's certain will come. It doesn't; Allison stops mere inches from her face, so close that Violet can smell her strawberry lipgloss.

“Start with his hands first,” she murmurs, eyes as hard and cold as glass. “Even if he won't bleed, he'll suffer.”

Violet shudders and nods. That is definitely a request she can comply with.

&.

Suffering is what Allison asks for. Suffering is what she gets. 

No amount of duct tape can mask the man's screams. They reverberate off the walls, ringing in Allison's ears long after he falls silent. His eyes are huge and wide and even though Violet is the one with the necklace, he stares at Allison the entire time.

She stares right back and doesn't move a single inch from where she's perched on his desk.

For once, one of Kate's claims turns out to be true. The necklace works just as well as she said. It effortlessly cuts through skin and sinew. Not a single drop of blood hits the floor but the room fills with the scent of seared flesh. It turns Allison's stomach slightly, but that isn't enough to make her move.

By the time Violet separates the man's head from his body, Allison is pretty sure that she's soaked through her underwear. She recrosses her legs, thighs sticking together under her dress. Violet is panting loudly and when she looks up, her mouth furls into a smile that reaches all the way to her eyes.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “Where did you get this again?”

“Family heirloom,” Allison answers with a shrug. She tries to keep her voice steady, but it's far easier said than done. Violet's neck is slick with sweat and there's a drop of blood sitting on the corner of her lip, summoned by her sharp teeth.

Allison doesn't know what she wants to lick up more.

“So,” Violet says, carefully holding the still-hot part of the necklace away from her body, “what did this guy do to you?”

“Aside from stiffing my dad on a business deal a few months ago? Nothing,” Allison replies. “But he won't be missed.”

Somehow, Violet's grin grows even larger and Allison finds herself falling even further into a dark hole that holds absolutely nothing good.

There's a container of gasoline in her trunk and she slips out to get it. The sun has nearly gone down and there's absolutely no other vehicles in sight. She pauses long enough to take a deep breath of cool air.

It's a beautiful night.

She saturates the room in gasoline, until the thin carpet underneath squishes when they step on it. She waits until she's on the threshold of the room before she lights a match and tosses it as far as she can. It catches almost immediately and she slams the door behind them.

They pull out of the parking lot just as the first window shatters.

They barely get a block down the road before Violet's palm lands on Allison's thigh. She wastes no time in sliding it past the hem of Allison's dress. Her fingers curl around the edge of Allison's underwear and Allison spreads her legs further, moaning as Violet brushes over her swollen clit.

“I think we should stop,” Violet murmurs. She unsnaps her seat belt and leans over further so that she can press her mouth against Allison's neck. Her teeth sink into the thin skin above Allison's jugular and Allison moans again, opening her legs as wide as her dress will allow. Part of her just wants to pull over into the nearest alley and drag Violet into the backseat, but that carries too much chance of being interrupted.

She wouldn't hesitate to rip open anyone who tried to interrupt them.

Somehow, she manages to make it a few more blocks without crashing. Mercifully, as the industrial area turns back into houses, a motel pops up on the side of the road. The sign is flickering pathetically and it looks like the kind of place where bedbugs run rampant, but Allison still yanks the wheel hard. She pulls into the nearest parking space and curses as Violet's finger just barely presses inside her.

“Stop. Just for a minute,” she groans, tugging at Violet's hair. “We'll get a room.”

“I'll pay,” Violet whispers against her cheek. She presses one last hard kiss against Allison's lips before she slides away, absently sucking off her fingers as she slips out of the car. Allison yanks her dress down from where it's shoved up around her waist before she slides out as well. She sits on the hood and as she waits, a fire truck goes screaming by behind her.

By the time Violet comes back, three more have gone by.

Violet grabs at her hand and tugs her away from the car. Their room is a few doors down from the office and by the time they get there, Allison has already placed two marks at the base of Violet's throat. Violet shoves the key into the lock with such force that Allison expects it to snap in half. The door slams closed as fast as it flies open and Violet wastes absolutely no time in pushing Allison back against the bed and yanking her underwear off.

It's two hours later and there's blood drying on Allison's stomach before she really even notices what the room looks like.

&.

For just a moment, Violet truly believes that her and Allison might be the only people left in the world. 

She's staring out the window of their motel room. The blinds are only half-pulled and the room is cast in an unsteady orange glow from the flickering streetlight nearby. There are a few cars in the parking lot, mainly rust buckets that look like they would fall apart if someone kicked them. But there's no movement, no vehicles on the roads, no drunks stumbling back into their rooms. She can't hear any music or moans or screams from the adjoining rooms. The only sound that pierces through the silence is Allison's soft breathing.

She could get used to this. She could get used to the whole world being dead and quiet, empty of every soul but that of the woman lying asleep behind her.

Before she can move back towards the bed, a truck goes flying by outside, horn blaring obscenely loud. That effectively rips Violet from her pointless reverie. There's a piece of paper laid flat on the table in front of her, torn from the Bible tucked into a drawer. Even with the light coming through the window, Violet can barely see her own writing.

In the end, she doesn't think it matters. She thinks that Allison will get the point.

She tosses the pen aside and allows herself a quick look over her shoulder. Allison is laying on her back, naked, blankets pooled loosely around her waist. Her pale skin seems to be glowing of its own accord and, for a few seconds, the effect is almost enough to pull Violet back towards the bed. Sure, there are a few dark bites and red scratch marks scattered across Allison's body, but she thinks that she could do some more damage before she leaves.

She turns on her heel and strides out the door. It's easy enough to hotwire one of the junkers in the parking lot and she does twenty over the speed limit all the way back to Beacon Hills. She's in and out of her apartment in ten minutes, leaving everything but her keys behind.

By the time the first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon, Violet has left the town in her rear view mirror.

&.

Allison wakes up to find her skin warmed by the sun. She stretches languidly, relishes in the pain as scratch marks that are trying to knit together tear open. She arches her back until she hears something crack before she lazily kicks the blankets away and surveys the room. 

She's alone. Violet's clothes are gone and the necklace is no longer sitting on the nightstand. Instead, there's a battered copy of the Bible, which came complimentary with the room. It's laying open and the spine is littered with shards of paper.

Allison doesn't need to look far before she finds the missing page.

She pads across the room and picks up the ragged piece of paper sitting on the table underneath the window. It's parchment thin and after she reads what's written on it, she easily crumples it between her fingers.

_this was fun. See you around._

Allison smirks and tosses the paper into the trash before lying back down on the bed. She'd known that Violet was going to leave, had felt the jitters coursing through her fingers the night before. Violet had cut deeper and her fingers had fumbled on Allison's throat, skittering across bruised skin before they found their rightful places. It was like she was attempting to linger in some way.

Allison rolls onto her side and brushes her fingers over a gash on her hip, before trailing her hand up her chest. She lingers on the bites littering her ribs, the explosion of bruises marking her collarbones and shoulders. Finally, she reaches her throat. She splays her palm along the column of her neck, almost perfectly fitting her fingers against the faint bruise that Violet left. She squeezes once, just lightly, before she shudders and pushes her face into the pillow, which still smells like Violet's shampoo.

Next time (and Allison _knows_ there will be a next time), she's going to make Violet squeeze tighter. The girl still has much to learn.

Allison gives it a week before Violet comes back to her.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
